


Make it a Word and a Blow

by NotTonightJosephine



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo+Juliet (1996)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Benvolio and Mercutio are in an open and loving relationship, Benvolio is ace-spec, Canon-Typical Violence, Everybody Lives, I took Some Liberties with the Text, M/M, Mercutio's Hero Dick Saves the Day, Multi, Oral Sex, Tybalt shows his pride in weird ways, and american, forgive my attempts to be Elizabethan, lots of banter, men in lingerie, potential future Mercutio/Benvolio/Tybalt, some accidental voyeurism, some less accidental exhibitionism, tiny bit of knifeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-06 23:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10347402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTonightJosephine/pseuds/NotTonightJosephine
Summary: Tybalt calls Mercutio's bluff, and thereby avoids all the tragedy of the last three acts.Alternative Title: Nobody Dies and a Blowjob's Fantastic.





	

The day was hot, with glowering clouds and a leaden sea. A pack of Montagues were panting in the scanty shade of a metal umbrella, at ease but armed to the teeth. As he and his kinsmen started across the sand Tybalt murmured: "Follow me close."

Petruchio swallowed but nodded obediently and took up his place at Tybalt's side, a step to the right and a step behind, learning to be more bodyguard than cousin. Abra fell into position to their left. A bitter restless night had passed since the Capulet's masquerade, and Tybalt could still feel the sting of his uncle's slap. It stiffened his spine, made him grind the sand with every step.

Benvolio must have noticed them approaching, and surely alerted the others, but Mercutio had merely slung a leg up on the weathered wooden tabletop. Tybalt scanned the rest of the crowd but could not see the shaggy blond head of the boy he sought. He was somewhat disappointed to see Gregory, the Montague he had shot the previous morning, sitting at the same table, arm bandaged but otherwise unharmed. He looked like he wanted to scowl up at Tybalt but was too afraid to dare, so that was something.

"Gentlemen, good day," Tybalt called, as pleasant as he could manage, "a word with one of you?"

"Ooh!" said Mercutio, affecting surprise at seeing them. "And but one word with one of us? Couple it with something." He was on his feet in a moment, a hand pressed to the hollow of his throat and his eyes wide, voice suddenly breathy and camp. "Make it a word and a… blow!" He laughed, and some of the Montagues laughed too. 

Tybalt didn't turn to see how his cousins had reacted, he knew Abra at least would be sneering and stoic, so focused instead on keeping his shoulders back and his smile fixed in place. "You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, and you will give me occasion," he said finally, choosing to call Mercutio’s bluff.

Ever-confident, Mercutio was strutting now, performing for Capulets, Montagues, and passersby alike. "Could you not take some occasion without giving?" he called over his shoulder, flipping up the back of his white shirt to show off his ass, and his holster.

More laughter. The Montagues had fanned out into a rough semicircle and the awareness that he was both outnumbered and outplayed pricked at Tybalt. Mercutio had turned to face the Capulets again, expression triumphant. But as the laughter died down, and the silence lengthened, all eyes turned to Tybalt. 

And Tybalt knew how he could still win.

He leaned back a little and tilted his head, eyeing Mercutio critically from head to toe and back up again, a crawling leisurely inspection, intimate as a caress. And then, with deliberate, exaggerated slowness, he went to his knees, spread his arms, and beckoned Mercutio over. 

Mercutio barked out a laugh, eyebrows high and dark eyes shining. Nobody else was laughing though, and Tybalt could hear Petruchio's too-quick anxious breaths behind him. The noise of cars and chatter seemed distant; perhaps the sunbathing crowds had smelled ozone on the air and were fleeing the coming storm. To Tybalt there was only the cry of gulls and the hiss of sand. And Mercutio, looking serious. He could have heard a penny drop.

Mercutio took a step toward him.

Immediately, Benvolio began to protest, "I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire…"

But Mercutio shrugged the staying hand off his shoulder and kept walking. 

"What said thou this morning, Benvolio?" Mercutio raised his voice and imitated Benvolio's deep drawl: "'The day is hot, the Capels are abroad, and if we meet we shall not 'scape a brawl'?" He grinned, eyes fixed on Tybalt. "I would rather this blow over others."

"I also said the mad blood stirs in heat," Benvolio protested. Then, when he received no answer, tried again. "Either withdraw unto some private place-" he cut himself off, flushing, and glanced along the beach, "or else depart. Here all eyes gaze on us."

"Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze," Mercutio announced with fierce delight. "I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I."

"Nor for their discomfort, neither, it seems,” Benvolio groaned, and that raised another laugh from the Montagues. Even the Capulets seemed a little more relaxed. "Go on," Benvolio continued, mock-chiding, "get it out of your system, but come not crawling to me post-swoon, only then rememb'ring where your loyalties lie…"

He turned away with a dismissive wave of his hand, but he was smiling. Mercutio caught his shooing fingers and kissed their tips. Benvolio looked pink, but then, the sun was relentless.

"Thou know'st I always come back home to thee," Mercutio said softly, or so Tybalt thought.

He watched Benvolio wander off to sit in the shade, not directly facing them but already glancing their way again. When Tybalt looked back, Mercutio was looming over him. 

"Will thy cousins let me make bold with thee?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"I am for you," Tybalt said, but did not offer any other reassurance. Pride had put him here, and pride would keep Abra and Petruchio from interfering with decisions that were his alone to make.

Mercutio shrugged, lips quirked in amusement, then unbuckled his belt and unfastened his trousers. With a quick grin and a wriggle of his hips he let them fall partway down his thighs and waited for the laughter to subside.

He was wearing a thong, pearly white and sequinned, surely a previously unseen piece of his costume from the previous night. It shimmered in the glaring sunlight.

Sampson, the Montague boy with dyed pink hair and a fading black eye, stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled his appreciation. More laughter. Out of the corner of his eye, Tybalt noticed Benvolio frown at Sampson for drawing attention to the scene. As if Verona Beach had never seen this show before. 

Tybalt found himself idly wishing he could view Mercutio from behind, but he pushed that desire to the back of his mind. With his left hand he reached for Mercutio's hip and with his right he fished a flickknife from his pocket and popped it open. Abra huffed out a laugh, and several gawking Montagues let out startled shouts and fumbled for their Swords. 

But Mercutio cried "Hold!" and threw up a staying hand.

 _He likes his delights a little violent_ , Tybalt thought, and grinned. He carefully used the flat of the blade to push the front of the thong up and aside. Mercutio's cock hung mostly flaccid, like a challenge. Tybalt licked his lips and set to.

Mercutio soon grew erect and Tybalt found a steady rhythm, a pattern of actions that worked for them both. The sand shifted under his knees but he kept his posture rigidly upright. Sweat trickled down his neck and back but he ignored it. Mercutio was far more expressive. He was performing his pleasure, showing it off with his head thrown back and his eyes closed as often as not. He gasped and moaned theatrically, but Tybalt liked to think he could tell which were exaggerated and which were wrung from him by a hard suck or the barest hint of teeth.

At one point Mercutio tried to slide a hand into Tybalt's carefully styled hair, and Tybalt responded by twisting the knife just a little, so the point pressed into his hip. Mercutio bit his lip to stifle a groan and ran his hands through his own hair instead, ruffling the short locs into artful disarray, then laced his fingers behind his head, the very picture of compliance.

Tybalt lost all track of time, but Mercutio's climax eventually came and Tybalt caught it fairly neatly in his mouth before leaning to the side and spitting it out on the sand. He released the thong, letting the elastic snap it back into place. Smirking at Mercutio's wince, he stood in one graceful motion. There was sand on his trousers but he didn't stoop to brush it off, or to massage his aching calves. He smoothed a stray lock of hair back instead, and let the discomfort rekindle his rage. Surveying the various impressed or embarrassed expressions of the men around him, he wiped his swollen mouth and grinned without much mirth.

Benvolio had wandered back to catch the end of the show, and now embraced Mercutio from behind, letting him sag against his chest and rest his head back on Benvolio's shoulder. One hand accidentally brushed the shallow cut on Mercutio's hip and he hissed.

"Art thou hurt?" Benvolio murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of Mercutio's throat.

Mercutio chuckled breathlessly, "Ay, a scratch, a scratch… and a pleasurable one."

They were only half a pace away from Tybalt and he was determined to stand his ground against this display of affection. When Mercutio's legs had stopped trembling, he pushed off from Benvolio and swayed toward Tybalt, steadying himself with a hand on his chest.

"You fuck by the book," Mercutio murmured, breath hot against Tybalt's ear. "No doubt you fight with such precision too. Tybalt, pussycat, we should… talk sometime."

Tybalt pushed him back toward Benvolio, rolling his eyes at the heavily suggestive pause. Mercutio just laughed as he tucked himself away and deftly refastened his trousers and belt. His grin was broad, his pupils blown despite the dazzle of sun on sand, and even after everything he'd just done, Tybalt found himself wanting to feel those nimble fingers at work. And wanting to lick and bite his way up the taut muscles of Mercutio's torso, tantalisingly on display and framed by the billowing of his unbuttoned shirt.

Tybalt gripped his flickknife tight until his knuckles showed as white as the ivory handle, then clicked it shut and put it away again.

"You owe me more than talk, Mercutio," he growled, "But as my first purpose was a word, pray tell me: thou… _consortest_ with Romeo?"

Mercutio only snorted. “It would ill-befit me to exchange a false word for a true blow.” He licked his lips. "Consort? Not I. Or not how thou consortest with thy aunt…"

Petruchio made a choking noise and took a step forward, but Tybalt trusted Abra to hold him back. Besides, a flash of silver had caught his eye and all that mattered was that Romeo was leaping from his car and running their way.

"Peace be with you, sir," he replied mildly, "here comes my man."

Mercutio turned to follow the line of his gaze. Romeo called out joyfully as he ran, and did not notice the black-clad Capulets until he was almost upon them. He stumbled to a halt on the uneven sand and darted wary glances around the group.

Tybalt did not let him wonder long. 

"Romeo! The love I bear thee can afford no better term than this: thou art a villain." He spat again upon the sand, and snapped his fingers.

Abra stepped forward at the cue, took Tybalt's Rapier from its holster and made a show of thumbing all but one bullet out of the magazine before cocking and returning it. Tybalt twitched his vest straight, then spread his arms again in another challenge.

 _A duel_ , Mercutio thought, _but for whose honour do they fight?_

Romeo made no move to respond in kind. Instead he stepped closer, frowning.

"Tybalt," he began slowly. "The reason that I have to love thee doth much excuse the appertaining rage to such a greeting. Villain am I none. Therefore farewell, I see thou know'st me not." Though this was surprisingly gracious, Tybalt noted with disgust that Romeo's jaw was narrow and his voice was barely broken. He still had the lisp of boyhood.

Then Romeo raised a hand to shake in truce.

Tybalt snarled and struck it away. "You suggest I need forgiveness?" he hissed, "You _dare_? When you revelled yesternight in sneaking hospitality from the Capulets? And stole kisses from the fair Juliet? This coward peacefulness shall not excuse the injuries that thou hast done me, boy!" 

Rage had Tybalt tensed to utter stillness, though the blood boiled in his veins, until Romeo shook his head and began to walk away.

"Turn and draw!" Tybalt cried, and again, "Turn and draw!" as he chased after the wretched boy. He caught up in a few paces, gripped a handful of Romeo's hair, and shoved him down onto the sand. He dealt a few vicious kicks before Romeo managed to scramble away.

Voice choked with desperation, Romeo panted out, "I do protest I never injured thee! But love thee better than thou canst devise." His blue eyes were beseeching, his gaze fixed on Tybalt's face, and he added softly, "till thou shalt know the reason of my love." He struggled to his knees, unholstered his Rapier, and offered it grip-first to Tybalt in supplication. "And so, good Capulet, which name I tender as dearly as mine own, be satisfied."

Before Tybalt could respond violently to this onslaught of fresh insults, Mercutio spoke. The crowd of Capulets and Montagues had followed the fray down the beach toward the abandoned shell of the Sycamore Grove Theatre. Though Mercutio's brow was furrowed in confusion, his voice was calm and steady. "We would all have satisfaction if thou wouldst let the cause of thy new love be known. 'Zounds, Romeo, why dost thou make us wait? When waiting breeds rage against thee, no less?"

Gazing up at his assembled friends and foes, all hands on hilts, all eyes on him, Romeo made a decision. He put away his Rapier, and struggled to his feet. Sand streamed from his clothes and blood dripped down his face as he turned to face Tybalt. He held his hands forward, palms open, like a martyred saint in a painting.

"I was married to Juliet thy cousin not two hours hence," Romeo said simply.

The shocked silence was broken only by the grumble of approaching thunder.

"Swear thou dost not lie," Abra said finally, through gritted teeth.

"I swear on all the-" Romeo began.

But Tybalt already had a better plan than taking him at his word. 

He hissed for quiet, handed Petruchio a couple of quarters and motioned him to the grimy pay phone near the closest corner store. "Get thee word from our cousin Juliet, of whether or not what we hear is false: that she a Montague became today, and Romeo became a Capulet. Say we would spare him for her sake, even embrace _this_ ," Tybalt rasped, gesturing toward the dishevelled Romeo, "her husband, as a cousin." He raised his voice so all could hear over the wind. "But, if it be not true, we will _put down_ the dog that dares to call her Montague."

Petruchio nodded and fled to his errand, nearly tripping in his haste. In the tense silence that followed, Mercutio began to smile. No longer fuck-drunk, he felt quiet inside, and in that quietness he was beginning to understand what Romeo's marriage could mean for their city, what defying the stars could bring his friends and lovers. He gazed at Tybalt's rigid stillness.

 _Peace is nothing of which to be afraid_ , he thought, and hoped Tybalt would think the same.

Tybalt's brain felt full of static. It was impossible, so he could not think it. His baby cousin married to this earnest scrap of flesh? What would his aunt think, how would his uncle react? He was oblivious to the hopeful dark eyes gazing across at his stricken own. As had happened so many times during the tumultuous day, time seemed to stretch til it meant nothing, and he could only wait for confirmation with bated breath.

They heard Petruchio before they saw him sprinting back.

"Juliet verifies Romeo's claim! He became her husband this afternoon in secret! Friar Laurence can attest! The Capulets and Montagues are wed!"

And then the rain began.

As if a curse was lifted, the Montagues began to smile, and then to cheer, determined for their joy to be heard over the boom of waves and the drumming rain. Gregory and Sampson piled on Romeo, embracing him and no doubt making all manner of bawdy jokes. 

Benvolio was the first to approach the Capulets, red hair plastered to his forehead, big dumb grin in place and hand outstretched. Tybalt still looked shocked, but this time tentatively took the offered hand. Benvolio laughed and pulled him close, thumping him joyfully on the back.

Petruchio nodded at Romeo, nervously congratulated him, and Romeo beamed.

Mercutio shook his head, incredulous. "A plague o' both your fucking families," he yelled, then laughed, loudly and relieved.

"Ay, a plague of weddings and fat children," Benvolio called with a smile.

Then they moved together to find shelter, and there was only the sound of thunder and laughter mingling.


End file.
